The Lady and The Lawyer
by FairyTale87
Summary: AU. What if Mary had said yes when Matthew first proposed? He enlists before he and Mary are married, and leaves a very conflicted fiance behind. And when he returns home, he returns to a very changed Downton and Mary... Mary/Matthew Sybil/Branson OC/OC
1. Lost in This World

_The Lady and The Lawyer _

_One_

'_Lost in This World'_

Mary Crawley had never been one to show emotion; she sometimes liked to think she got it from her grandmother Violet. But to admit that, would be an utter lie. She'd always been an emotional woman, but compared to Edith with her green envy, and Sybil with her persistent and strong opinions, Mary had constantly appeared dull and lackluster; leaving her with the coined name of 'Heartless'. If this was actually the truth, she did not know any more. Some days, she was the cold and stony witch with the figure of the biblical Eve, and those were the times she held her head highest. Mary somehow found ease in being what people expected; yet it also sickened her. She had never considered herself to be a humble rule follower, but she had to admit the system did work to her advantage. To be an upper class woman in a male dominated society certainly had its perks; but her free will was also greatly suffocated. Mary could have any dress, set of silverware, or pricy oil painting she desired, but her future was not fully in her power. Marriage; family; loyalty, and virginity… it was quite difficult to stay genuine and benevolent in a society where gossip and 'who slept with who' always roamed the streets of England.

Ever since the death of Cousin Patrick, her entire destiny had been a rocky and ever-changing foundation, and at times she'd felt it begin to crumble. Matthew Crawley had been the catalyst for the deterioration…

Or so she'd thought.

Mary knew from the first moment she saw him that he would be a hard man to resist; but she'd forced herself to create flaws in his handsome face. She could not, and would not, admit that his eyes were the genuine kind of beauty and sincerity that every man should posses. Instead, she viewed a set of conspiring cobalt eyes, just waiting to steal her future and fortune. Matthew had given her a smile, and she'd had to ignore the wondrous awe and innocence that sparkled on his gleaming teeth and swayed easily with every breath he took.

But it wasn't long until her fabricated flaws became taboo to even think of; his magnificence had overpowered any doubts that had been festering inside of Mary. She'd let her guard down then, and it was an exhilarating feeling. Only Matthew could share that memory with her. He had been the first to break her harsh exterior, and she hoped he'd be the last.

He certainly could be, given the events of the night prior. In the typical straightforward Matthew way, he'd proposed to her. There was no quartette, planned candlelit dinner, or a room full of expectant and greedy family members just waiting to see how the matrimony would benefit them. Instead, it was a kiss, a gaze, and a question. Mary did not care though, which type of proposal she'd gotten from Matthew; all that mattered was that he'd done it.

But as per usual, she had to let logic speak for her heart, and she'd told him she'd think about it. She'd thought long and hard, and sitting now on a wooden bench in the gentle July afternoon breeze, Mary knew her answer would be a yes. She only hoped that Matthew would still accept her despite her hesitance. She was sure he would, though; if he truly loved her, he'd understand.

Sliding her white silk glove up higher on her forearm, she waited eagerly for Matthew to appear. She'd sent for him about fifteen minutes ago, so it wouldn't be too much longer until he showed. Despite knowing him for nearly two years now, she still could not wait to watch the way his blue eyes caught the sunlight—especially when she gave him her answer. How would he respond?

A bashful smile, a paralyzed happiness, or the cliché embrace and spin? Whatever the case may be, she was prepared all the same.

"Mary," she heard Matthew greet, as he made himself known. Appearing from behind one of the numerous large tree trunks, Mary gazed in wonder at how his beige suit somehow illuminated his fair skin. "Carson said you would be out here…"

She knew he was expecting her to bring up the subject of the proposal, and she smiled knowingly. "Yes, well, I am here indeed." Mary stared at him, but Matthew gave no reply to her comment. Breathing, she continued on, "I think I have made you wait long enough for your answer." Her voice somehow sounded aloof, and that was far from what she wanted. To make her feelings more known, she inched closer to Matthew, careful not to dirty the end of her lavender dress too much, and enveloped her mild hands around his. She wished she could feel his skin right against her, but proper fashion would not allow such a thing.

"There is no need to sound so proper, Mary; I am only a middle class man after all." Matthew gave a little lighthearted smirk, and Mary shook her head in response.

"Maybe by how you were raised, but your argument is very weak as you stand behind the estate you are to inherit." Mary supplied Matthew with a small smile, and quickly continued talking before he could interject. "Matthew, my answer is yes; I believe it always will be."

The look on his face was reaction enough for her. Matthew looked like a child who had just received a bicycle on Christmas morning. Flipping their hands so that his now lay on top of Mary's he pulled her in closer to him, placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

"I have no words," Matthew whispered, when their lips finally parted. "I love you, Mary. I promise you will be happy."

"I never doubted it for a moment," she returned in an uncharacteristic sweetness. "And I love you too." It felt right to say. Nothing was strained, nothing was too sickeningly sweet. It was Matthew and Mary, in all of their entirety, and she wouldn't change anything about it.

* * *

><p><em>August, 1914<em>

"You enlisted," Mary seethed, too silent in shock for her anger to really hit Matthew with its full force. "What in God's name compelled you to do such a thing?" She pressed a hand to her forehead, attempting to understand her fiancé's motives.

"Mary," he returned soothingly, "if England is at war, then I want to fight to protect it; and you. It is not a matter of what compelled me; it is a matter of duty. What type of man would I be if I ran from my loyalty and responsibility?" Truth be told, Matthew would be more than pleased to stay home safe with Mary at Downton, but that was not an option he was willing to consider.

"We haven't even married yet. What if you are killed, Matthew? I would not be able to live with that, knowing I let you go freely into this war. There are other ways to support England. Be a part of the effort at home." Mary had become too attached to watch Matthew be torn from her grasp to fight the Germans. The Kaiser could have all the medals and propaganda he wanted; but why did Matthew have to be killed for them?

"You know I cannot do that, Mary. If I could, I would certainly stay here with you—you know I would. But everyone has a duty to their country; I will not just sit by and experience the war through a newspaper. You have to be able to accept that." It broke his heart to do this, it really did. The look of utter pain that was plastered across Mary's face was enough to make him regret his decision, and a part of him wished he'd never enlisted. But he had, and he was going… that was the inevitable.

"Call me stubborn then, because I cannot justify you dying because German troops stepped on Belgium soil. It's so unfair." Mary shook her head, crossing her arms over her black dress. The color was eerily perfect for the mood of Downton since Britain had entered the war.

"I don't know why you're so convinced I will die, Mary. The war may last only a month or a year; we don't know. But have faith, will you? There are a lot worse things I could be leaving for."

"Worse than being shipped away from your home to suffer for a cause you do not fully understand or accept? I am sorry Matthew that I cannot be the obedient and blindly supportive wife, but I could not bear anything happening to you."

Matthew smiled. It was the sort of smile that represented the last day of the old way of life. He prayed that when he left, she'd remember him like this: smiling and confident, with all the love in the world for her. "You called yourself my wife," Matthew whispered.

"Don't be ridiculous, Matthew, of course I did. Although the Church may not recognize us as married, I certainly do."

"Whenever I leave Mary, I want you to remember me as the man who loves you. Whatever that means to you, that's what I want you to envision whenever you think of me." Standing in one of the many sitting rooms of the house, he moved closer to Mary, embracing her tightly. He felt her arms encircle his waist, and he closed his eyes. Soon this moment would feel like a warm dream to him…

"Why are you saying your goodbyes now?" Miraculously, Mary's voice did not crack as she'd expected it to.

"I leave tomorrow on the twelve o'clock train," Matthew told her, and he felt Mary stiffen.

"Tomorrow," she breathed breaking the hug. "Why so soon?"

"The government does not care about convenience, Mary. I wish I had more time; I'm sorry it happened like this."

Mary nodded, holding back the tears. Twirling her engagement ring on her finger, she prayed that soon she could have the wedding band as well, and that Matthew would be here to share the rest of her life with her.

* * *

><p>So I just started watching Downton Abbey, and have fallen in love with it. I am not sure if I'm going to continue this, so <em>please tell me your thoughts<em>. I understand it was very short (and sadly not very detailed) I just wanted to take a preliminary crack at writing DA and Mary and Matthew. _Ideas are always much appreciated_.

**Note: **If I do decide to continue this story, I may go back and edit this chapter to add more detail and content; just an FYI.

_Reviews are love_


	2. Tomorrow Came Too Soon

_The Lady and The Lawyer _

_Two _

'_Tomorrow Came Too Soon'_

The station was bustling with people: parents eagerly expecting their children to return from summer vacation or trips with family members, wives impatiently waiting for their husbands to return from a business trip perhaps, but Mary assumed that most of them could not feel her pain.

Matthew was leaving—gone for God knows how long. Just when she'd begun to fully accept that he was finally hers, he was being torn from her grasp, and she could do nothing to persuade him otherwise. Of course she was proud to watch Matthew volunteer so bravely, and wear his uniform with such valiance, but she'd prefer him in civilian clothing any day.

As the couple walked to Matthew's designated platform, she glanced up at him, finding it difficult to pinpoint the man she had fallen in love with under all the reserved seriousness. His face showed no signs of the distress or nostalgia that were splashed across Mary's features like a blood splatter; not even his eyes showed a single ounce of dismay. She knew why he chose to act this way: if he was emotional, then he'd never leave. Matthew was adventurous only to the extent of taking a weekend trip to London—how would he ever fare in the foreign places the army sent him?

Mary felt the stress she was sure Matthew felt, and wished there was some way she could ease his nerves. But alas, she'd never felt true despair and a sense of nothingness to the extremes he must be experiencing. Mary sighed, and took hold of Matthew's brown leather gloved hand, and had to smirk sadly to herself. Usually, it was glove against skin, but now both of them were cut off from each other's full touch. It was quite a depressing fact, that they'd be leaving each other in such a symbolic distance. Using her free hand, Mary traced her index finer over her bottom lip, feeling the silk black glove drag oddly prickly against the skin.

"Matthew, must you really go?" The words flowed from her mouth before she'd had a chance to hush herself. She watched as Matthew closed his eyes in a sort of pained tiredness, and knew this was not a conversation he wanted to have moments before getting on his train. But Mary would not let him go without one last fight.

"Are you seriously asking me this question Mary, minutes before I am to depart?" His voice was tight, and maybe even slightly irked, but at least she'd sparked some emotion into his sweet blue eyes. They silently whispered to Mary a _'no, I will be here with you always'_ but she knew the words would never pass Matthew's lips. Could the timing of this war be any more inconvenient? The matter was between Austria-Hungary and Serbia technically, and England had simply been dragged in due to allies and duty.

Duty. Never in Mary's life had she loathed a word quite like she did in this moment. It was because of _duty _that England had declared war on Germany, and duty that had tempted Matthew to enlist, and damn duty that had made her accept both of the latter facts.

"I do not mean to pry," Mary returned mildly, tightening her grip subtly on Matthew's hand, "I just simply want to make sure you are making the right decision. It shouldn't be because of what society expects, or what you think you owe to this country. In the end, it should be what you believe to be best for you; and if that is going off to war, then you have my undying support." She knew she may sound painfully desperate, or tiresomely repetitive, but Mary had never raised her white flag without stating her position as forcefully and as often as she could. She knew her chances of winning this argument were slim to none, but it was still worth a go.

"There should not be terms and conditions for your support, Mary," Matthew replied, dryness overcoming his tone. "I do believe this is the right choice; and partly for the reasons of society and the government. There is no use beating a dead horse, love. This war is inevitable now, and it wouldn't matter if I signed up now, or waited for the pressure; it would happen anyway." Matthew sighed, maneuvering his hand out of Mary's grasp, and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I do not mean to sound cold or heartless, but you know where I stand, Mary. Please do not let me depart on such a strained note." His eyes pleaded with hers, and she knew there was no way she could (or would want to) argue with that.

"Never Matthew," Mary whispered in response, and slowed her walk. Taking hold of Matthew's forearm tenderly, she directed him closer to her, and she placed a gentle hand on his cheek. "I know this is not easy for you. And I think you are very brave to do this; but please come home to me." She'd never been one to beg, but the normal rules of her personality didn't seem to apply when it came to Matthew. He made her feel all the emotions she'd been too scared to ever show and it somehow felt liberating to be so dependent and loyal.

"I will return, Mary," Matthew gave a sad smile, "or at least I will try my best to."

"Don't talk like that," she whispered, "you will return; I know you will. Now kiss me and get on your train… duty calls." Mary reached her other hand up and placed it on Matthew's other cheek. She could feel his dimples as he smiled, and she tried desperately to memorize the feeling. Closing her eyes and lifting up towards Matthew as he bent down, their lips touched. It wasn't an epic goodbye kiss that they always showed in a Nickelodeon, with tear streaked faces, and desperate ravishing hands, but rather a peck of the utmost simplicity, yet if felt it held much more meaning than the staged passion.

Breaking apart finally, Mary leaned her forehead on Matthew's. "Be safe, and remember that I love you."

"I will, Mary, and I will write as often as I can. I love you too, and remember that when I return, we will be greeted with a wedding and a future." Matthew blinked heavily, trying to disperse the tears that were forming in his eyes, but Mary noticed the newfound sparkle. She gave him a supportive smile, and a light kiss on the cheek before the whistle blew, indicating that the train would be leaving soon. Matthew said nothing, but rather gazed at her lovingly, but the melancholy was already darkening the tone of his features.

He finally left Mary's sight, now hidden by the smoke flowing with profound suffocation from the train. He was gone… for good. There were no more pleas Mary could say, no more touches she could remember while he was away. She heard the train begin to rumble and then start to move, and that sealed the deal.

"I love you," she whispered once more, knowing Matthew had no way of hearing her. But somehow it felt like an important and needed remark; if not for him, but for her. Most people didn't realize that the women at home were fighting a battle of their own: with loss and pain. Now Mary wasn't about to drown herself in her misery, and moan for months over the absence of her fiancé, but she did think she was justified to grieve just a little…

* * *

><p><em>Two Weeks Later<em>

"How are you faring Mary?" Cora asked, as she, Mary, and Violet sat down for a late afternoon tea. The young woman hadn't been herself at all since Matthew left, and it was a fact neither her mother nor grandmother could ignore. The two looked to her expectantly, and she breathed in tightly. What was she to tell them? That she missed him horridly, and wanted nothing else but to scream or cry? Of course not; that was too weak.

"Quite fine, Mama," Mary returned, sitting up a bit straighter, and sliding towards the edge of her chair. To break eye contact with the suspicious Cora, she looked down to her dress, and began to smooth the wrinkles in the crimson material.

"Mary darling, you do not have to be so guarded. You are allowed to miss him; in fact I'd be more worried if you weren't." Cora's sharp blue eyes compelled Mary to meet her gaze once more, and she sighed. Her mother and her American accent had a way of making everything seem less prim and proper, and more like a regular conversation that a pair of servants would have. Mary hadn't decided yet if she liked the feeling or not.

"Of course I miss him, Mama," Mary stated matter-of-factly, folding her hands in her lap. "I wait every day to receive a letter from him; if only just to memorize the curves in his letters. It is so odd to miss someone so much…"

"You certainly are becoming quite the romantic," Violet replied knowingly, sitting in the seat adjacent to Mary. The younger woman switched her gaze to her grandmother, and looked questioningly at the woman. Mary had never known Granny to be such a benevolent soul, but it somehow made sense. She'd always thought of herself as quite like Violet, so as she felt herself morph into a softer being, it only made sense that Violet did as well.

"Not a romantic, Granny, simply an open-minded woman with a love for a man." Mary's logic didn't work out smoothly as she'd expected it to, but then again, when it came to Matthew, nothing went as planned. "Have you heard any news from Papa?" She returned her attention to Cora. She watched her mother's face go numb, and it finally hit her how pale Cora had become since Robert and Matthew had left.

"No my dear, still no word—but you know how long it takes mail to get here. We may receive a letter any day now." Cora smiled, but it was still only a reminisce of the past dignified glory that had always pranced across her face.

"Yes, I suppose you're right," Mary agreed, still not perfectly sold on the thought. Running her palm over the diamond in her ring, it reminded her that there was a future with Matthew not yet bound. She hated coming back to this idea time and again, but somehow it always did. For too long, she'd been in the 'almost' stage with Matthew; a point of utter chaos and heartache, but when he'd proposed, Mary thought she could finally rest. But yet, cruel fate had other plans, and had torn her from Matthew for the umpteenth time. She tried her best not to be bitter, but it was an ultimate failure. She was too invested in Matthew and her love for him to watch it all disintegrate right before her eyes.

"Do not be so melancholy Mary," Violet told her with a firm tone and a touch of gentleness. "Matthew is a strong young man, and very well practiced, I'm sure. He and your father will return home safe."

Mary wished it was that easy for her to be so positive about the whole matter, but her habitual pessimistic ways still reigned supreme.

"I do believe you Granny," she retuned mostly out of courtesy for Violet's 'valued' opinion, "but if you'll excuse me, I am going to get some fresh air."

And just like that, Mary Crawley avoided the elephant in the room to the best of her ability.

* * *

><p>So I know I just posted, but I couldn't help myself. My apologies for it not being much longer than chapter one, but again I remind you I am just getting the feel for Downton Abbey and its characters. Also, thank you so much to everyone who has shown support for this story, even in its earliest days; you really are all magnificent. An even bigger thank you to those who reviewed as well, your input is very much appreciated.<p>

_Reviews are love_


	3. Waiting For You

_The Lady and The Lawyer _

_Three _

'_Waiting For You' _

The drawing room was dreadfully quiet and cold, with a war raging on across the channel. Mary had never minded solitude, but in the current state of things, she only longed for a warm and passionate touch. Following the lining on her ivory skirt with her finger, a sort of painful stress made itself known every time she breathed in. Nothing ever really fazed Mary Crawley, and she'd always prided herself in being able to be so untouchable; but this war was personal. It had taken her father, her fiancé, her security, and her happiness. What made men so cruel, as to conjure such a predicament of a feud? Damn generals wanting to flex their newfound military muscles, and old treaties becoming the new law of the land. How could a world become so divided over a little Serbian assassinating a not well liked duke of Austria-Hungary? The questions were asked too late for any answer to be given.

Mary breathed in, tracing the silhouette of her fingers on her skirt. She felt utterly useless, sitting in this ancient house with all the pleasures of the world, as men were getting blown to shreds for a war that wasn't even theirs. It was certainly a gloomy thought, and it affected every resident of Downton. She wished there was something she could do to lull the distress of the soldiers, but something kept her hands stiff against her body. Mary knew it was only wishful thinking that she'd do something for the war effort. It was not that she didn't want to, there were just so many factors and details that kept her from doing so; war only broke the social barriers so much. Running her index finger over her eyebrow, she wondered how Matthew was doing. It had been a week or so since her talk with mother and granny, yet there was still no word from her beloved. He couldn't have been killed so soon, and she prayed he was not to be one of the first victims of this foolish war.

"Lady Mary," Carson greeted in his heavily deep voice, "you've received a letter." She and Carson had bonded over the course of her life, and she was ever so pleased about that. The wall that usually stood between servants and employers was virtually invisible for Mary and Mr. Carson. She smiled pleasantly at the man, and he made his way over to her place on one of the many chairs.

"Do you know who it is from, Carson?" Mary's voice was distant, her eyes locked tightly on the letter he placed in her hands. It looked like Matthew's handwriting, but her mind could certainly be playing taunting tricks on her. Dragging a finger over the square piece of parchment, she was nervous to open it. It did not give her the vibe of being insidious, but looks can be deceiving. Mary had never liked common and overly used phrases, but this one she had no choice but to agree with. This war was savage at best, yet men still threw on their best suits, and held their heads high in their dignified uniforms. Women were even worse: they draped their lavish dresses on as if this massive battle was one large novel to be read for pleasure.

"I couldn't say, m'lady," Carson returned, folding his hands together at his waist. Mary looked up to him, almost silently pleading for him to stay with her as she opened the letter. The elder man therefore stayed in his place, until he was formerly dismissed by the Lady Mary.

"I do hope it is from Matthew," she said, mostly to herself, "I'm not sure how much longer I can last being kept in the dark." She took the letter opener from the coffee table in front of her, and tore the top of it with a nice keen flick of the wrist. Carson had always admired Mary's grace and strong nobility, and it showed in every move she made. She slid the slightly whiter paper from the envelope as if it were the plague, and held her breath when the letter was fully out of its wrapping. She could see the curvy black letters, as the sun illuminated them through the thin eggshell paper. Unfolding the thing swiftly, her eyes danced over the page:

_My dearest Mary, _

_I do apologize for not being able to write sooner. This war is worse than we had previously imagined, and I do not believe it will be over in a few swift months. But not to fret, none of the action I have seen thus far has been lethal. I do not expect that this fact will soothe the stress and nerves I know you have, but I pray that it will let you sleep easier at night. _

_It is very odd to be with men of so many different backgrounds and ranks. Out here in the frontline, social status is much less important. I suppose that is a good thing; it means the world is changing. But enough of the future, the present is too dense to see even a month ahead. How funny, seeing as how not even a year ago, life ten years from then was perfectly clear; it certainly puts things in perspective. _

_All that matters is that we will see each other again. This war may hinder our plans, but it can never steal them away from us. I love you Mary, and I pray I will see you again soon. _

_Warmest love, _

_Matthew _

Mary stared at the letter, emotion running dry in her veins. How was she to interpret this? It was so divergent, that she had no idea how to even begin to dissect it. Mary was rarely left stunned, but this time certainly counted as one of those few.

"Carson," Mary whispered, "do you think this war will drastically change Matthew?" She loathed being so open and uncertain, meaning this crisis was taking its toll on her way of existing. This whole thing could possibly wear her dangerously thin before it even ended. She was strong though, she liked to think, so she would survive; even if she had to force herself to.

"There are many things that can change men, Lady Mary, so there is no way to tell. But I do believe he will come back in once piece—whatever comfort that may bring you, m'lady." He'd always seen Mary as the daughter he never had, and it warmed him to know she viewed him as family enough to share her thoughts with him.

"I suppose you're right Carson, I am being sentimental and silly." Mary shook her head, and just like that, she'd locked her feelings away. She'd closed the wound, and poured the salt on it before anyone else could; as she always did. "Is there anything else?" She looked to Carson, almost with a sharp accusation, staring at his still stagnant feet.

"No, Lady Mary, that is all." With that, Carson gave a stiff bow of the head and then exited the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Again Mary was left alone, and she clenched her teeth together. Why was it that her world was falling apart when the catalyst for that hadn't even been sparked yet? Her emotions were a haywire mess of pride jumbling with fear, love melding with logic.

* * *

><p>"Sybil," Mary said as she found her sister in a sitting room a few doors down, "do you mind if I join you?" She lingered in the doorway awaiting Sybil's approval. Although in most cases she'd sit herself down immediately, something kept her in her place.<p>

"Of course not Mary, is anything the matter?" Sybil had always understood and respected her in a way Mary could never understand. She'd never been necessarily wonderful to her sister, yet Sybil had always been the one to find her redeeming qualities.

"No, nothing wrong," she replied, easing herself into the seat next to the blue eyed girl on the couch. "I received a letter from Matthew today." Her voice was colder than she'd intended it to be, but she didn't feel the need to correct herself.

"Is that so," Sybil said, noticing her sister's odd behavior, "what did he say?" She'd never had a problem with Mary being with Matthew; in fact it was quite the contrary. The new heir to the Lordship of Grantham embodied every quality Mary was afraid to show, and still found a way to illuminate all of their similarities. The two worked together quite well, but Sybil also knew that it was not easy for Mary to be truly happy and welcoming.

"Oh, it was the generic letter, telling of how different war is, and how he hoped he'd see me soon." As she spoke, Mary straightened her posture and set her chin a tad farther out. What compelled her to be so heartless, she hadn't a clue, but it somehow felt like the right response; no matter how wrong that may be.

"I see," Sybil returned, "but why are you so opposed to what he wrote? You couldn't have expected a truly original work akin to Shakespeare, as he fights in the trenches." Mary was a high class girl, with expectations she herself could not even reach. Sybil's only concern was that her sister may ruin her life with Matthew by being her signature cold.

"I don't know what I expected, Sybil, but I feel like I know less about his situation than before he wrote me. If this war really is to go on for some time as he said, then I anticipate his next letter with agony. I do not care for shallow promises and hopes when he doesn't even know what lies two miles in front of him."

"Mary, I've never claimed to understand your mind, but I've always tried to accept it. But this talk of Matthew can lead you nowhere happy. You cannot hide behind your aloof dignity forever, and if you do, I can promise you that Matthew will not be yours for much longer. You are a wonderful person Mary, but sometimes your righteousness can be quite wretched." Sybil stared blandly at Mary, not about ready to give up this fight. She wanted her sister to be happy, and wanted the same fate for their parents. But she was not willing to watch as Mary's pride ruined all.

"_I _am the wretched one? You are the one who goes around thinking you have the power to turn the tables of an entire male dominated society…"

"That does not make me wretched," Sybil returned tightly.

"Perhaps not, but it certainly makes you blindly proud. That is always a treacherous trait." Mary folded her hands neatly in her lap, feeling the heat of Sybil's seething body.

"You're becoming cold again," she replied blandly. "Matthew had shown you what you could be like if you would simply let people in, and you were magnificent. You'd shed your skin of the tragic hero. But now with him away, and the war destroying everything, you are reverting back to your old self. How do you expect to move on with Matthew, if you cannot even leave your past self in the dust for more than two months without him here? I do not mean to criticize; I just don't want to see you make an injuring mistake."

"Oh save the innocently genuine speech for someone who hasn't grown up with you. Sybil, I do not deny that your intentions are kind, but your execution is horridly off. My affairs with Matthew have little to nothing to do with you." Mary knew she should apologize. She hadn't meant to be so cold when it came to Matthew that was the last thing she wanted. But Mary should have known better than to trust herself with such extreme feelings of love.

"I do not wish to fight with you Mary; I only want what is best for you and this family. But you are not the only one who is a victim of this war; the entire country is. Not only that, but all of Europe is hurting to some degree. Papa is in this war too—I can relate to how you feel. But do not use this hard exterior as your defense against this darkness; it won't do you much good."

Mary stayed silent, knowing quite well that Sybil was right. If she continued downward spiral, would Matthew even recognize her when he finally returned home to her?

* * *

><p>So chapter three! I'm really sorry if Mary is out of character (or anyone else for that matter) but this is an AU, so I think I get a little leeway! Haha. Please tell me any ideas you may have as per usual.<p>

_Be good and review _


	4. It Couldn't Stay Bright Forever

_The Lady and The Lawyer_

_Four _

'_It Couldn't Stay Bright Forever'_

_Mary, _

_We saw our first bout of action the other day. God must have no mercy on the poor souls of soldiers, Mary. In this barren land, everyone and everything seems to have turned icily atheist: only the most devout still pray to their god. The others, I do not even know what runs through their minds. We all pray to family and luck now: the power of religion seems to have been lost. You never know how terrible the world is, and the horrors it can do, until you see how the shrapnel destroys a man. Bodies and minds have been tattered by their flying pieces, and I am convinced more lives have been lost by it than an actual gun. _

_I am sorry, my love, for giving you all this terrible news. It is surely not an image that will keep your hopes up at home. Mary, I count the days until I see you and Downton again. There is no heaven in these forsaken trenches, and all I have to keep me going is memories. The green grasses of Downton, your father's stern stare, the magnificence of it all is almost heartbreaking to remember. But most of all, I picture you. If only you could see the effect you've had on me; it is most splendid. When some men have lost all hope, and thus the desire to go on, I persevere because of you. I love you, Mary, and wait oh so anxiously to see you once more. _

_We will be moving camp again soon, so I must go now. I wish you all the best at home. _

_All my love, _

_Matthew_

Her hands were shaking, and she was not sure they'd ever stop. The gramophone on the other side of the room played the melody of Cannon in D Major; a song which usually kept her spirits light. But tonight, as the candlelight was dying out, and the blackening sky consumed more of the room, it hummed nothing but misery. It had been almost four months now since Matthew had left, and each day was another to worry about his survival. She kept anticipating that letter that would inform her of her fiancée's death and destroy utterly everything she loved about the world. Thank god that message was still nowhere to be found.

Mary ran her hand over Matthew's fine writing, and could feel the places where his pen had dug deeper into the paper. She tried to imagine how he looked as he'd written this letter, and where he'd been at the time. But other than the descriptions he'd given her, Mary knew nothing about the war. Last time he'd mentioned a location, he said simply France. A part of her wondered if even he knew his exact location. Her heart churned and bent as she thought of the hell Matthew must be going through, and clutched his letter tighter in her hand. Wherever he was, it seemed dark; eternally so.

There was a slight knock at the already opened door, and Mary turned around to see her mother walking into the room. Even Cora had lost some of her pride-filled posture, and her outfits became plainer by the day. Mary smiled sadly, and patted the seat next to her. Closing the distance, her mother sat down beside her and sighed.

"What is it, Mother?" Mary turned slightly on the pinkish couch so she could face Cora better. The mother gave one of her disappointed smiles that hinted to the fact she was going to be the better person.

"Your cousin from America wants to come and visit with us," Cora said simply, shaking her head a tad. Mary was completely taken aback by this, and furrowed her eyebrows.

"Come here," she said, "during a _war_?" None of it made sense to her. Any logic that presented itself in this matter was absolute rubbish. When a small silence fell between the two women, Mary realized what she'd said. If it had been not even a year ago, the first thing in her head would have been 'an _American _relative?' or, 'we don't even know her!'. It had been quite some time since Cora had spoken to her sister, and Mary couldn't even remember the last time she'd met the woman.

"Apparently so, yes," Cora conceded. "I just received the letter today." She stroked the crease of the paper, her mind seeming to be somewhere else entirely.

"What does Papa say?" Her father was usually on her side in matters such as this. Where Cora was a light spirit, Mary and Robert were always more logical about decisions.

"He thinks it is something we should do," Cora said. Mary froze. Even her father was agreeing to having an American, which they'd never met, come to stay with them during a time of great war? Things were completely out of the norm. And Mary was never stable when life tilted out of synch.

"Why," Mary said shallowly, barely able to lift her eyes to Cora.

"Because family is the most important thing now. If coming to England will help your cousin, then it is what we must do."

Mary was in no mood to argue with her mother. Matthew's words still swam hauntingly in her head, and she was overwhelmed by life. Giving a polite smile, she nodded.

"Then it is what we must do," she echoed, rising from her seat and walking from the room letter in hand. Mary Crowley was numb to the bone.

* * *

><p>So a <em>very <em>short chapter, but I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing this fandom. I promise the plot will pick up soon, and I'd love any suggestions you have. To all of those who read and review this, thank you for sticking with it even though it's taken me so long to update. I truly does mean a lot to me.

_Reviews are love!_


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